


How We Got There

by LovelyLittleMudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLittleMudblood/pseuds/LovelyLittleMudblood
Summary: Hermione blinks up at him almost innocently and Draco knows that expression, knows it means she’s plotting something he’ll get dragged into despite knowing better. He ought to leave now while the going is good.“But you do know what you’re doing?” Hermione asks.Draco fights to keep the rush of questioned memories and doubts off his face. “Of course I do!”“So will you tell me?” Hermione asks, “ show me?”“Show…”





	How We Got There

Draco’s had enough experience with witches and sex, and sex with witches, but even still he wondered how he ended up here. Here being the flickering glow of candles and the pounding of rain on the roof of Hermione Granger’s tiny flat, the warm food in their bellies and drink on their breath, and the laugh Hermione gives when he asks what the matter is.  
“Oh, just something that should have been great that had gone wrong,” she says and he knows she means sex, doesn’t know how, but he knows all the same. After knowing her for almost all his childhood and working with her for his short adult life, she had slowly become his closest friend. sometimes he thinks he know her better that Potter or the Weasley boy, maybe even herself and before he can stop himself, his hands clench into fists. “Who do I need to smack?” he asks, his voice light enough.  
“No one,” Hermione waves him off, the laugh still on her lips as she swallows the last sip of her cheap wine. It is the night after some ceremony, one Draco was invited to even though he’s only been in this department for a few months. One look at Hermione’s face, clear-sighted and graceful and so sure of her place, is enough to make him aware of it. He knows he must will be right at home here, Hermione was right to suggest him for the position, even if he wasn’t sure himself. He is self-aware enough, however drunk he may be, to know She is certainly no longer anywhere near the frizzy haired know-it-all she use to be. Anyway.  
“So who is this kid?” he asks, doing a terrible job of playing the teasing friend, knowing how petty it would be to sound jealous. Truthfully, he’s not jealous, although when he thinks about Hermione with this unnamed other person, there are emotions there, simmering under the surface, that he doesn’t really want to explore.  
“No one,” Hermione says again, not with embarrassment so much as an amused sort of defensiveness, possibly on her partner’s behalf, before she adds, “A friend”, which could mean just about any of her very close tribe of red headed boys, Potter, even Longbottom or a couple of coworkers . Before Hermione shook things up – saved the world –became one of the most important witches of their age, but unknown to any one she had always been important to him.  
He asks, before he can stop himself, “So what did this friend do that was so bad?”, expecting Hermione to protest and hit him with whatever is closest to hand, probably a book or to laughingly tell him to mind his own business. Instead, Hermione shrugs. She inspects Draco’s own drink to check it’s all gone and licks at the rim to clear up any last drops. He’s seen her drunk before and this isn’t it, but they are both a little tipsy, just on the edge of it. He tells himself it’s this that makes him watch her so closely, eyes lingering on the sheen on her lips in the soft glow of the candles. Perhaps the tipsiness is what inspired the conversation: Draco’s aware he’s not the best person Hermione could speak to about it.Luna and Ginny are most likely still at the party. Draco and Hermione had made a not entirely subtle escape after a while into the dinner, grabbing some desserts and drinks to take so they could catch up in peace, neither willing to wait until morning. They’d timed it poorly: shortly after, the rain had started, resulting in an undignified rush for this little flat. Draco can’t say he’s too disappointed with how it’s turned out. He likes Hermione’s friends fair enough, Potter and a couple of the weasleys, and the rest of her group and colleagues can be fun, but right now, he just wants to sit in this little living room with the woman who had some how became his best friend.  
“It probably was both of us,” Hermione admits, making a face, “It wasn’t bad exactly, just… unsatisfying.” Not bad exactly is still bad enough, in Draco’s opinion, and he decides to do some poking around in the morning, find out who this person is and to let them know the error of their ways, Slytherin style. Then Hermione can get annoyed with him and smack him with her booksr when she finds out. Unsatisfying, though?  
“Surely…” he starts to say, before wisely shutting his mouth. Hermione continues regardless,  
“Just…it was kind of fast? Neither of us really knew what to do, I guess. With our…” she starts saying something about mouths and hands and other body parts, and Draco thinks that he either ought to clap his hands over his ears and make jokes about how he’s very much and most definitely not listening (or starting to imagine) or to nudge her into having this discussion with her female friends instead in the morning, or at least to wait and talk about it when they’re not tipsy. Before he can settle on the appropriate choice of reaction, Hermione pauses, slanting a suspicious glance up at him. Draco freezes. He knows that look.  
“ Is this embarrassing you?” Hermione asks, glee slowly spreading across her face, “Draco,Draco Malfoy prince of Slytherin,–” and somehow she manages to make that sound vaguely dirty, “– embarrassed by a little talk of rubbish failed sex? What have you been doing all these years?” Rubbish failed sex? Unknown partner is definitely having their wrongdoings detailed to them. Thanks to Hermione’s description just now, Draco will even be able to provide specific examples. But…  
“What have I been doing?” Draco splutters, “Stuck on house arrest for two years, remember?”  
“After that?” Hermione quirks an eyebrow at him, “Before? I presume you have actually had sex at some point –”  
“Aaaaand this conversation is over,” Draco interrupts. If anything, Hermione looks even more delighted, leaping to her feet to gesticulate in demonstration of her disbelief.  
“You haven’t? What? How is that even possible?” Draco is caught between offended at her entirely incorrect assumption and conflictingly pleased by the implication she seems to think he must get legions of partners offering themselves at his feet. Which isn’t too far from the truth, he assures himself. Still, he needs to stop this now. “You’re how old?” Hermione asks.  
“Hermione,” Draco stands as well, thinking of putting his hand over her mouth just to stop the flood of incredulity, although not too sure he wants to risk her flailing arms in order to touch her. He settles with crossing his own arms, levelling her with a quelling look.  
“You’re being ridiculous.” She snorts a laugh, not taking the look seriously in the slightest. “You’re ridiculous! Come on, tell me, you’re Draco? You must have hadsome naughty exploits –” Draco lets out a loud sigh, relenting. He flops back down.  
“Yes,” he says, “Yes, of course I have, plenty of sex, all very creative and awe-inspiring, some of it unexpectedly horrifying –” having teeth there was just plain wrong “– none of it something I’m going to tell you about.” Hermione wipes her eyes, losing her laugh. She peers down at him through the gaps between her fingers.  
“Why not? I told you about mine.” As if he had needed confirmation it had been her first time. Draco sighs again, finds an unfinished plate of dessert amongst the abandoned dishes and offers it to her.  
“Look, sit down, will you? I don’t want to crane my neck looking up at you.” She sits, accepting the plate, and starts eating the dessert absently. “Are you just trying to ask for advice about what to do next time?” Draco decides he ought to be serious, given that this conversation is happening however poorly suited he is for it. “Wouldn’t your friends be better for that? Or to speak to this guy of yours? You did talk together about what went wrong, didn’t you?” He can see by her face that they hadn’t. “Not that interested in a repeat performance with them, then?” he asks, as gentle a way he can think of to ask without asking whether they are someone she has feelings for.  
“Not after that, no,” Hermione finishes the dessert, handing him the empty plate back. Draco rolls his eyes and sets it down. She admits, “It was pretty much a spur of the moment thing, anyway.” The rain gets even heavier on the roof, snagging their attention momentarily, and Hermione draws her knees up to her chest as if chilled. It makes Draco want to put an arm around her and pull her in to share his own warmth, but he isn’t too sure about how the gesture would go over right now. “You are my friend, Draco,” Hermione says, which makes him grin, “I thought you’d have lots of – of advice about what to do. I was just – you know I was teasing you just now. Maybe it was wrong of me to pry, but I thought, out of everyone I know, you would have plenty of experience,” she side-eyes him, “Even perhaps experience of sex going wrong.” Draco knows he ought to laugh and protest, to tell her that of course he’s incredible at everything and has never had any failures, but the idea of doing so doesn’t sit right. It must have taken some guts to tell him about her less than wonderful experience wine to help or not, and he is her friend, just as she is his. Hermione leans over sideways, just enough to rest her head on his shoulder, looking up at him as she waits for his answer, and so Draco gives in and pulls her close. Like that, he can feel that she is indeed a little cold and maybe tired, and it makes him wonder how late it is.  
“You’ll get better with practice,” he tells her, “Just like everyone else. It isn’t something anyone gets perfectly right or even anywhere near right, occasionally,” he gives a crooked grin of acknowledgement, “Even Slytherin Princes, yes, you’ve got me there. You’ve got to talk about it with your partner; make sure you both want what you’re doing; check you both know what’s going on,” Draco would like to think he’s done well in giving them a good time. Even if he hadn’t actually talked that all much with them, more concerned with soaking up their compliments or singing his own praises. Some of the sex (especially with Slytherin witches) had been more like fighting, if he’s honest, or started out that way, although he’d always made sure to check for consent. Still, he’d like to think highly of his experiences – But Hufflepuff, the girl he thought he could please the most easily and successfully, had called him overwhelming – and not in a good way. The hypocrisy of the advice he’s just given Hermione clogs in Draco’s throat. Unaware of any of this, Hermione blinks up at him almost innocently and Draco knows that expression, knows it means she’s plotting something he’ll get dragged into despite knowing better. He ought to leave now while the going is good.  
“But you do know what you’re doing?” Hermione asks.  
Draco fights to keep the rush of questioned memories and doubts off his face. “Of course I do!”  
“So will you tell me?” Hermione asks, “ show me?”  
“Show…” Draco has to stop there, unable to get any more words out, unable to quite process this new world in which his closest friend and ex-boss has just proposed they have sex?


End file.
